


Shaving Accident

by AZGirl



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Brotherhood, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7402441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/pseuds/AZGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What d’Artagnan hadn’t known in that instant was that, many times over the intervening years, he would hear the not-so-innocent and teasing question – shaving accident?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shaving Accident

**Author's Note:**

> Minor spoilers for everything up to and including the first few episodes of season 3.

**ooooooo**

_The heart hath its own memory, like the mind,_

_And in it are enshrined_

_The precious keepsakes, into which is wrought_

_The giver’s loving thought_

~~~~~~~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

**ooooooo**

It was several days before anyone noticed it. 

After failing to convince Aramis to rejoin the Musketeers and put off fulfilling his promise to devote himself to God, d’Artagnan, Porthos, and Athos threw themselves into preparing for their deployment to the warfront. They tried and failed to not think about the possibility they would never see Aramis again. 

D’Artagnan cursed the timing of his King’s proclamation of war, not because he did not want to do his duty to his country, but because it meant he would be unable to do his duty as husband to his new wife. As a newly-wed man, he had hoped that he would be able to spend time with his wife and that they might adjust to what it meant for them to finally be together. But it was not meant to be, and he’d had very little time alone with Constance since they’d exchanged their vows. This time it was war that was keeping them apart.   

A few days on the road and d’Artagnan missed Constance more than he ever thought possible. 

Their route to the warfront had proven to be more difficult than anticipated due to the lack of sources of abundant water. As a result, they’d barely had enough water to drink and cook with. 

Therefore, the first river that they came to that had more than enough water became a place where the regiment stopped for longer than they’d originally planned. They set up camp for the night much earlier than was normal to stop for the day, allowing for the men and horses to have their fill, and also gave the men the opportunity to properly wash, if they so desired. 

It was when Porthos and d’Artagnan were washing the dirt from the road off of themselves that it became obvious. 

D’Artagnan was running a towel through his hair, trying to dry it enough so that he was no longer dripping water everywhere. Porthos, who was sitting on d’Artagnan’s right, was waiting for him to finish so that they could walk back from the river together. Once he was satisfied that it was dry enough, d’Artagnan draped his towel over one shoulder in order to use both his hands to smooth his hair back down to something more presentable. 

It was not until he’d finished that Porthos noticed something was off. 

He gestured towards d’Artagnan’s head and said, “Shavin’ accident?” 

D’Artagnan looked at Porthos, confusion written all over his face. There couldn’t have been a shaving accident. He hadn’t shaved since they’d left Paris, and he didn’t plan to again until just before they broke camp in the morning. 

Porthos stretched a hand towards him and snagged a lock of his hair, giving it a gentle tug. D’Artagnan felt himself blush when he realized what Porthos was referring to. 

ooooooo 

_The morning that the Musketeers left the garrison and Paris to go to war, d’Artagnan didn’t have much time to say goodbye to his wife.  
_

_Every chance they got and in between last-minute preparations, they hugged, kissed, or simply held hands as often as they could. Neither spoke much, not wanting to dwell on the fact that they had not been married for very long before they would be separated – quite possibly for many years to come.  
_

_The Musketeers were minutes away from leaving when d’Artagnan and Constance were given one last chance to say a private goodbye by the Captain. D’Artagnan thought it might take a while before he could picture Athos as being Captain rather than Tréville.  
_

_He and his wife crashed into each other, kissing as if their lives depended on it. Eventually, the passion lessened to gentle kisses, their embrace becoming tighter, knowing his time to depart drew near. They both drew back slightly, and simply looked at each other, memorizing every detail to carry with them forward until they could meet again.  
_

_Constance was the first to break eye contact.  
_

_“D’Artagnan, I know this might sound silly, but can I have a lock of your hair?”  
_

_The request had surprised him. “A lock of my hair? Why?”  
_

_“It’s something tangible to remember you by while you’re gone.”  
_

_D’Artagnan’s thoughts turned towards the locket that Athos used to wear when they had first met. Athos had kept the locket, given to him by his wife, as a penance and a reminder of another time. At first, he was not inclined to allow it, not wanting the lock of hair to become a symbol of their separation, or have any other negative connotation to it should the worst happen. But the look on Constance’s face had him agreeing to the request.  
_

_He didn’t know if it was because she looked so determined to have her way, or if he had recognized that Constance would not allow any negative thoughts to enter her mind about the possibility he might never return.  
_

_He nodded and smiled. “Of course, Wife.”  
_

_“Thank you, Husband,” she replied.  
_

_The pleased and loving smile on Constance’s face was enough to let him know that he had made the right decision.  
_

_His wife then drew him over to a nearby table that had a pair of scissors and a length of Musketeer-blue ribbon lying upon it. She picked up the scissors and eyed the right side of d’Artagnan’s hair as if deciding where to make the cut.  
_

_She eventually grabbed a section of his hair and brought the scissors up to cut, but suddenly changed her mind, muttering, “That’s too much.”  
_

_It was when she was about to let go of some of the hair that someone banged on their door, causing both of them to jump slightly and Constance’s hand to make the cut on reflex.  
_

_“Oh no,” she said as she pulled her hands away.  
_

_“What happened?” d’Artagnan asked, wondering if she had accidentally cut him, despite not feeling any pain.  
_

_Constance twisted to put the scissors back on the table and lifted her other hand to show him the amount of hair she’d cut off. It was definitely much more than he had anticipated or imagined she would ever want or need. As she laid the lock of hair on the ribbon and tied it into a tight bow around it, he reached up towards his hair. It didn’t feel really any different, but was it obvious to the casual observer?  
_

_As if she’d heard his thoughts, Constance said, “Don’t worry; you can hardly see it.”  
_

_Knowing that the banging on the door meant he now had less than five minutes before the regiment was to depart, d’Artagnan let the matter drop. He would much rather spend this last moment together, committing his wife to memory.  
_

_With one last passionate kiss, he headed out the door to join his Musketeer brothers._

ooooooo 

Knowing any further acknowledgment of Porthos’s question would just make things worse, d’Artagnan resisted lifting his hand to feel for the place his hair had been cut. So much for the spot being hardly visible. 

Porthos laughed, obviously having seen his blush, but d’Artagnan had no intention of disclosing what had happened. 

As they were walking back to camp, d’Artagnan came up with the idea of not letting that portion of his hair completely grow back out again as his own reminder of his wife and those last moments that they had spent together. 

However, what he hadn’t known in that instant was that, many times over the intervening years, he would hear the not-so-innocent and teasing question – _shaving accident?_

Yet, despite any teasing from Porthos, and knowing looks from Athos, d’Artagnan never revealed how his hair had come to be like that and why he never let it grow completely back out. 

ooooooo 

_Four years later…_

Having been preoccupied by his return to Paris, their reunion, and the order for his reassignment to the City, it was several days before Constance noticed it. 

D’Artagnan and Constance had met with Athos, Aramis, and Porthos for breakfast more than an hour before the morning muster. They were using the time to catch up with what they had missed of each other’s lives over the years, and basking in the fact that they were finally all together again. 

They were all laughing at a story Aramis was telling about a mishap in the monastery’s brewery, when Constance lifted a hand up to brush at his cheek, muttering something about bread crumbs. D’Artagnan then felt his hair being lightly tugged. 

“What happened? Why is your hair—?” Constance asked, but was interrupted with a hearty laugh by Porthos. 

“It was a shaving accident,” Porthos said before laughing once more. 

Out of the corner of his eye, d’Artagnan could see a bewildered, yet concerned Aramis trying to get a look at his face. D’Artagnan, however, didn’t stop staring at his wife, willing her to remember how and why he’d come to have a small, uneven section of hair under his right ear. 

Constance’s eyes widened suddenly in comprehension before she said, “Did you—?” 

D’Artagnan nodded slightly in confirmation of the unspoken part of her question, hoping she had guessed the reason that he had indeed kept that small part of his hair short – he had wanted to have something to remember her by. 

Suddenly, a delicate hand was thrust in front of his face. D’Artagnan looked at it, his eyes following up the hand and length of his wife’s arm to see that Constance was standing and waiting for him to join her. Without saying a word, d’Artagnan stood and took his wife’s outstretched hand, letting her lead the way to their quarters. 

As they walked away, Porthos laughed again, and d’Artagnan could hear Aramis ask about the “shaving accident.” Porthos began to tell the tale of how the teasing phrase had come to be. However, though he was unable to hear the exact words, he could hear Athos’s voice interrupting Porthos. 

Just as he and Constance entered their quarters, d’Artagnan heard Porthos’s boisterous laugh, and he suddenly had the feeling that his three friends must have figured out why he’d kept that one section of hair short these past four years. Or rather, he figured that Athos had informed the other two when the older man had interrupted Porthos’s tale. Those knowing looks over the years every time Porthos made a joke about his supposed _shaving accident_ now made a lot more sense to him. 

D’Artagnan stopped in his tracks and groaned before he said, “I am never going to live this down.” 

Constance drew near to him and slipped her hands around his waist. “What?” 

Following suit, d’Artagnan wrapped his arms around his wife. “My hair. I’d managed to keep the why secret – or so I thought – for four years. And now they all know.” 

His wife kissed him and said, “Does it really matter that they all know?” 

With a mischievous grin on his face, d’Artagnan returned a much more passionate kiss, and replied, “Not right now it doesn’t.” 

D’Artagnan kissed his wife once again as he kicked a foot out towards the door, causing it to slam shut on the lingering sounds of his brothers’ laughter. 

ooooooo 

_The end._

**ooooooo**

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was inadvertently prompted by a conversation between me and Celticgal1041. Many thanks to her for proofing this; any remaining mistakes are my fault. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
